The face of this rocky wall was torn apart near the base, and the fissure, which slanted across the face of the precipice, choked up with myrtle-bushes, grape-vines and trees, stinted in their growth from want of soil; but it was deep enough to hide that poor human creature flying for her life. She ran toward the broken line which betrayed the fissure, and, crushing through the sweet myrtle-bushes, fastened her foot in a coil of vines, and crept upward with that scared face turned over her shoulder, unable to tear her eyes from the crowd of men that came sweeping round the house and surged up to that gaunt pine-tree.
They carried lanterns, and torches of burning pine, throwing a red light all around and illuminating the very foot of the precipice. Sybil crowded herself back into the fissure and dragged the vines over her. Then, shuddering till the foliage trembled around her, she looked through it, ghastly with fear but fascinated still. There was the man who had been her fate, the cruel tyrant whose breath had made her tremble an hour ago, lying across the shoulders of his late friends, already half lifeless, yet shrieking faintly from dread of the death to which they were lighting him.
The woman was seized with dizzy terror. The lights flowed before her eyes in a river of fire. The specters of a thousand gaunt old trees danced through it, and among them swung a human form to and fro, to and fro, as it would sway through her memory forever and ever. She was pressed against the rock, her foot tangled in the coiling vines, her hands clenched hard among the tender shrubs--but for that she must have fallen headlong to the broken rocks beneath.
All at once the tumult ceased; a frightful stillness came over that dark crowd; men shrunk away from its outskirts into the darkness, frightened by their own demon work. She clung to the vines, and looked down dizzily; a feeling of horrible relief came over her. She turned her face to the rock, and held her breath, listening, as if his voice could still reach her.
It was near morning before the crowd around that tree dispersed. Then she crept feebly down the rocky fissure, and stood trembling on the trampled grass. One glance upon the pine, and she turned away, sick at heart. A fragment of her own red scarf fluttered there--and--and--